


Bonjour Maladresse

by gwynndelous (Eristastic)



Series: SouKisu University AU [11]
Category: Free!
Genre: Crushes, M/M, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eristastic/pseuds/gwynndelous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up surrounded by your older brother's attractive friends isn't easy, is it, Hayato?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title just means 'Hello, Awkwardness' (and a thinly-veiled reference to the book Bonjour Tristesse), which I think sums this up quite well. Other summations include: 'Against all reason, Eris decides to take a nice 'Kisumi's family' prompt and writes a second person angst fic about Hayato'. 
> 
> The second chapter (= the actual story) will be up in a few hours.

There was a peculiar broom cupboard in Sousuke and Rin’s apartment. They’d never been all that sure what to make of it: the door could barely swing back far enough to get inside, and the inside was about the width of half a leg anyway so it wasn’t like they wanted to. Presumably it had been downsized to make way for the boiler next to it, but that still left the question: what kind of idiot architect thought a room too small to go in was a good idea? Needless to say, they didn’t do much with it. It was a nesting ground for spiders in the summer (not that Rin could ever be allowed to find out about that) and basically useless in the winter.

But Kisumi knew all that, so it was still something of a mystery as to why he’d been staring blankly at the open door for five minutes.

“Enjoying the view?” Sousuke said drily after giving himself a few seconds of staring at the back of Kisumi’s head to come up with something suitably witty to say.

Kisumi started, his hand dropping from the side of the door and it creaked closed, practically bouncing on its hinges in its hurry to get back to the frame.

“Huh?” he said, with about as much self-awareness as one of the better online AI chats.

“You’ve been staring at that broom cupboard for like five minutes now.”

“This is a broom cupboard? There aren’t even any brooms.”

“There are some dust cloths,” Sousuke pointed out.

“Do dust cloths really constitute brooms nowadays? The economy must seriously be going to hell.”

“No kidding. Anyway, what’s up?” He pulled Kisumi away from the now-closed door, perhaps a little gentler than usual, and propped him up against the kitchen counter.

“Hayato’s hiding something from me.” He was biting his lip, rubbing a socked toe along the floorboards.

Sousuke wanted to quip a nice ‘Is that all?’ but he figured that probably wouldn’t be conducive to a supportive relationship, and besides, Kisumi wouldn’t space out like this for no reason. He decided to be diplomatic about it.

“Isn’t he fifteen or something now? This is just a hunch, but if you think he’s hiding something from you, there’s a fair chance you don’t want to find it out. Wink wink.”

“You didn’t even wink.”

“I know: that’s why I said it. I can’t actually wink,” Sousuke said simply.

Kisumi frowned, looking up from the floor. “You can’t? Seriously? That’s- …no, we’re getting off topic, never mind. Look, I know usually you’d just guess he’s…exploring his libido or whatever-”

“I can guarantee you that nobody has managed to phrase jerking off in such a simultaneously poetic and useless way before.”  

“Okay, okay, fine, but _look_. It’s probably not that: I’ve already given him the talk and everything, so I don’t see why he wouldn’t just tell me.”

“Wait, what? _You_ gave your little brother the talk? Aren’t your parents around for that? Better yet, have the internet do it. No awkward conversations needed.” For something to do, Sousuke started sorting through the heap of scrap paper dumped on one side of the kitchen sink; a mass of receipts, scribbled down recipes, and notes for his neuromuscular physiology class he thought he’d lost forever.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure it was done _right_.” Kisumi was back to biting his lip. “My parents…aren’t really the greatest at communicating stuff. I didn’t want him to think it was dirty or anything. That kind of mentality can mess a kid up, you know? And it wasn’t as awkward as you’re making it sound, I promise. But because of that, I don’t think he’s just getting all secretive about masturbating or something.”

Sousuke dropped a stack of paper into the recycling. “Well, he _is_ a teenager. He’s probably just decided to be secretive and moody to serve his own ego.”

Kisumi poked him. “Says the guy who does the exact same thing even now, in his twenties. But Hayato’s never done that before. We were all anticipating it, but he just kept being the bundle of sunshine he is…”

Sunshine wasn’t exactly the first thing that came to mind when Sousuke pictured Kisumi’s younger brother (drizzle, perhaps, or fog), but he decided to let the brotherly delusions go on. “Well, alright, if you think it’s neither of them, how about you go over why you think he’s hiding something from you?”

Screwing his face up in over-dramatic concentration, Kisumi seemed to think about it before giving up completely with an almighty sigh. “I don’t know! I just know he is! It’s fraternal intuition, I’m telling you.”

“Not really a thing, but okay.”

“You don’t even have siblings, Sousuke: you wouldn’t know!” He was pouting, eyebrows furrowed, and his arms looked dangerously close to crossing angrily over his chest, so Sousuke stepped in with an arm around Kisumi’s shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay, I was just kidding. And it’s probably not a big deal, you know that, right? It’s fine to worry about him, but he needs his privacy too. He might just want to have some things to himself.”

“I know…” Kisumi almost-whined. “I just…don’t want to lose him to rebelliousness or mood swings or whatever. I was never like that: there’s no reason he should be. I just want him to trust me. Even when our parents are being awful, I want him to know I’m still here, on his side.”

“Yeah.” Sousuke kissed the top of Kisumi’s head and leant his cheek on it. It wasn’t something he’d normally do, but an empty apartment was an empty apartment (and an upset boyfriend was an upset boyfriend). Exceptions could be made.

Kisumi moved into Sousuke’s side and grumbled a little, still shifting his weight nervously.

“Have you tried sitting him down and talking to him about it?”

“Yeah,” Kisumi sighed. “Of course I have: that was the first thing I tried.”

Thinking back on Kisumi’s usual definition of ‘serious talks’, Sousuke tried again: “Have you started by telling him you’re worried about him, though? That his behaviour’s unusual and you just want to help him?”

“…do you think I should? That sounds really ominous: I kind of don’t want to…”

“I might not be any good at talking to people, but I do at least know how it works in theory,” Sousuke nodded sagely.

There was silence from Kisumi’s end for a few moments. Outside, someone clunked up the stairs to their floor and started rattling their keys noisily in their door.

“….Alright! Fine! I’ll do it the alarming way!” Kisumi eventually said.

“Sounds like a plan.” Sousuke moved away and opened a cupboard to find a clean mug. “Don’t make it too alarming, will you? Just enough that he knows you’re serious.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” And now Kisumi was the portrait of confidence, leaning back against the counter and grinning. “I’m me: how badly could it possibly go?”


	2. Chapter 2

You think your brother’s an idiot.

It’s not even that he’s stupid (because he’s not the sharpest, okay, but you’re also not the type to be mean about that and frankly, you’re not the sharpest either), it’s just that he doesn’t _get_ it. It’s like he expects everyone to move at the same pace he does, except that you know he doesn’t because you’ve met his friends (and you might have stalked his boyfriend’s profile a bit) and you know that they’re nothing like him and he still seems to get along with them just fine. So what’s the deal? How come he’s sitting right there in front of you, smiling and waiting for you to smile back, for you to tell him that nothing’s wrong?

You kind of wish you weren’t as bad at speaking as you are, because you really have a piece of your mind to give him about privacy and personal space and not being an utterly overbearing brother.

But you _are_ bad at speaking, so you can never tell him that sort of thing.

Instead of answering his plaintive “What’s wrong? You can tell me anything, you know. I’m always on your side”, you look down at the floor. The mattress underneath you creaks and you know that even if you did tell him, he wouldn’t get it either way: he’d just think it was great and perfect and wonderful, completely erasing any possibility you might have had for feeling negative about literally anything.

He really, really doesn’t get it.

“I’m not going to judge or anything, Hayato,” he says. “I just want to help, and I know the parents aren’t exactly…the best when it comes to talking about stuff.”

You laugh nervously, because he’s right about that, at least. You might not be that smart, but you’re not idiot enough to talk to your parents about anything like this. God forbid. The very idea makes you want to stiffen up, pre-emptively defend yourself with a blank stare and pursed lips.

 “I won’t make light of it either, you know I won’t.”

Do you really know that? You think you know the opposite, honestly, but you don’t say that. You can’t say that: it’s not in your nature.

“I’ll treat it seriously because this _is_ serious: I just want to see you happy again.” He looks sad now, and you feel a pang of guilt mixed in with the confusion. “And if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too, but I’m here for you either way.”

Bending forwards, sitting with his arms on his knees and that unfamiliar seriousness in his eyes, he’s making this very difficult for you. You fidget with the hem of your shirt, wishing that he hadn’t sat in front of the window because the late afternoon sun is blinding and you can barely look at him as it is.

You feel silly; all the self-righteous anger you’d cultivated so hard – because you’d earned it, it was something you deserved to be able to feel, damn it – draining from you now he’s actually there with you.

It’s just going to sound stupid now. You know that, and it makes opening your mouth even harder. In a shaking voice, still trying to sound nonchalant or something cool that you’re obviously not, you say, “I-it’s not that big of a deal.”

“But it _is_ , though!” He sounds so earnest, too.

“It’s not! I just…I like guys as well, okay? It’s not that important.” Except that it is, to you, and hearing your voice tremble at the edges as you push the words out makes you want to be sick.

But he’s beaming, of course. You think his hair might be fluffing up too, but that could be a trick of the light.

He’s just going to play it off as something miraculous and marvellous again, isn’t he? You knew you shouldn’t have told him. What are you getting out it: some peace of mind? You could deal without that, you think, if it meant you didn’t have to put up with his over-enthusiasm.

“Thank you for telling me!” he says, though. You weren’t expecting that. You almost feel lighter for a second, staring up at his smile that seems way too fond and affectionate for the current situation, but the guilt quickly takes care of _that_ momentary happy feeling.

“Yeah, well…” you mumble, scratching the back of your head for something to do. “I know you weren’t going to, but…don’t tell _them_ , okay?”

“Like hell I’d do that!” He ruffles your hair and you screw up your face in the way you know he likes you to do (he calls it cute, and you’re way past the age where you want to be thought of as cute, but you like to please him).

“S-so…it’s seriously nothing to get worried about,” you say. And it’s not: it’s not something he should get worried about. “It just turned out that I’m not solely into girls. Big deal.” You shrug too much, so it probably comes off as over-dramatic and you can’t meet his eyes.

“But it’s still great that you worked that out for yourself!”

“Didn’t you realise when you were younger than me?” He’d told you back when he gave you The Talk. Of course he had: he’s so open and trusting with you that you don’t know what to do with it all.

“Well, sure, but still!” He’s relaxing now, settling back into your spinning chair and moving to the sides in a kind of rhythm. “So how’d you find out, anyway?”

You shrug again, then freeze in the middle of it as you wonder if you’ve been shrugging too much. To cover it up, you answer, “It was just a feeling, I guess…”

Yeah, a feeling. Crushes counted as feelings, right? Deep, unrequited crushes that felt like they were never going to go away even though you’d been struggling with it for literal years now. And okay, you’d only realised it was a crush a few weeks ago when you’d seen him again, but still, but still, but _still_! Having years of latent crush come back to slap you in the face wasn’t fun.

“Well hey, I was the same!” he grins, but you’re pretty sure he’s lying. That’s actually a feeling right there: you can generally vaguely tell when your brother’s lying, but you’re not so rude that you’ll call him out on it. Though it’s probably more a lack of courage than being polite.

“Mm…” you mumble.

“So…” and _oh_ , do you know ever know and fear that expression, “have you got anyone you like or is it too early for that yet?”

For a brief moment, you entertain the idea of denying it, but you’re…not the greatest at keeping secrets from him, even though you’d like to be. Only him, though: everyone else is easy to hide stuff from. Just not your brother.

“I-I’ve…got someone, I guess.”

Mischievous interest triumphs over protectiveness. “Really? Who? What are they like?”

“Uh…he’s really kind, and a really good person. He’s someone you can rely on, I suppose…he’s older than me, and it’s probably never going to work, but…” Best to keep it vague, you figure, though mostly because you’re too embarrassed to be anything but vague rather than because you’ve got the presence of mind to be sneaky. He’ll probably guess, anyway. You sit on your hands to stop them from shaking.

“He’s not _too_ old, is he?” And he’s frowning now: look, you messed it up, you fucked it all up because (a) you can’t keep secrets from him, (b) you’re too embarrassed to actually be fully honest, and you know he’d be fine with it if you could just say the _name_ , for crying out loud, and (c) you’re an absolute idiot, no wonder your crush is never going to be reciprocated.

You keep your eyes fixed on your feet, but Kisumi realises what he’s done quickly enough. His flustered apology makes you feel so, so guilty, but you still can’t look up.

“Sorry…” you mumble, barely audible.

“No, no, it’s my fault! I know you don’t like it when people get angry: I should have been more careful.” He hugs you, and you rest your face on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, okay?”

The shards of panic in your chest are melting slowly, so you nod and apologise again.

“What else do you like about him?” he prompts, letting you go gently and ruffling your hair again (good thing it’s so short and difficult to muss up).

So you give it some thought, and you list off some more things that make you feel warm inside, the memories alone making you blush (‘It’s just hot in here! I’m not blushing, I’m not!’ and he doesn’t believe you), but you don’t quite have the courage to say who you’re apparently head over heels for. Your brother’s usually so good at guessing this sort of thing, though, so you think it’s probably alright: you’ve pretty much said everything but the immediate details that would help him guess, so it’s just going to be a matter of time. He might guess later on, when relaying the conversation to his boyfriend or something.

(And you know he does that, because you’ve seen his boyfriend’s posts questioning how much privacy you have, and your brother’s cheerful protests that the two of you are just really close).

(You’re not sure how to feel about that.)

But the mood’s lighter and that’s enough for you.

“Say, do you want to come up to Sousuke’s place for a weekend or something soon?” he asks, catching you off guard.

“Huh?! B-but, I couldn’t…”

“You’re on holiday now, right? And I practically live there anyway: it’s totally fine!”

You wish he’d text his boyfriend or something before promising that.

“Come on,” he keeps wheedling in the way he does. “Maybe just for a day? You can come back with me tomorrow to hang out. Or you could just have the apartment to yourself, if we go out? It’d get you away from Dad’s holiday stress, you know.”

That’s as good a temptation as you need, and you find yourself agreeing. It sounds sort of like an adventure, just taking off with so little warning, without making any concrete plans. You feel excited, sort of. This could be fun, you think.

 

It isn’t fun: it isn’t fun at all and you’re finding it hard to breathe. Your brother hasn’t even noticed yet, what the hell? This wasn’t supposed to happen: you can’t _believe_ this is happening.

Everything was absolutely fine (a little awkward, perhaps, but fine on the whole) to start with because it was just you and your brother and his boyfriend and you didn’t even have to do much: you just played some games, had lunch, tried to read some of your holiday reading before succumbing to the lure of games again, and it had been _nice_.

You’d really thought you weren’t going to ruin everything for yourself today, but here you are, managing to have a breakdown just because you hadn’t realised that your crush is in a very happy, very reciprocated relationship.

You feel like you’d rather like to disappear forever. Not out of embarrassment (although that happens to you enough), but just…you don’t think you can take it, not like this. Makoto and his boyfriend are _right there_ – and okay, bright side, he’s into guys too, so you’re slightly less boned than you might be, but _why are they here why the hell are they here_ – and you can’t even look at them. You froze at his excited greeting earlier, only making it through the questions he asked because by now you’re used to trudging through small talk even when you feel like shredding yourself into dust. So now you’re just hovering outside of the living room like a dying butterfly. You feel like one, a bit. It hurts. You didn’t have time to prepare yourself and it _hurts_.

(They’re bickering, too: the light-hearted, making-up-with-kisses kind of bickering and it hurts so much because you knew you never had a chance, but to have it shoved into your face like this is unbearable.)

Sousuke notices you first, which is probably a blessing because your brother would just make it a public affair, like your personal problems are open for everyone to know about. He comes over to you and asks if you’re okay (quietly, making sure the others don’t hear, and you want to cry with gratitude). You shake your head, and he nods, calling out an excuse you can’t really hear to the others, and taking you to his room.

“You alright?” he asks in the careful way of someone who knows full fucking well you’re not alright.

And since he knows, there’s no shame in it (but there always is, for you), so you shake your head and cover your face with your hands. Slumping on the bed, you complete the ball of shame pose and bring your knees to your chest. You think your hands might be trembling. They do, sometimes. Sometimes it’s your whole body, your teeth clamped together so tight you couldn’t possibly talk even if you knew you were going to get more than whimpers out.

You kind of hate yourself.

Taking you by surprise, you feel the blanket being wrapped around your shoulders, and Sousuke sits next to you heavily. For a second there’s only you in your puddle of shame and panic and anxiety that won’t ever stop choking you, and then he starts stroking your back through the blanket. It’s slow, rhythmic, and you can feel his warmth slightly, even dulled by the material. It hadn’t been difficult to see that he was no good with words – not in the same way as you, but enough of the same for you to empathise – and it’s…it’s nice, that he’d do this for you.

(You don’t deserve it, you don’t deserve anything this soft and kind, but you shove those thoughts away.)

“I…I’m such a-an _idiot_ …” you croak out hoarsely.

A few seconds of silent comfort pass.

“I’d say something about that not being surprising, given who you’re related to, but I guess that might not help,” he says in the end, and it’s so out of place that you want to laugh. It’s kind of true, too, so you manage to smile and fix your lips in a stiff imitation of the shape even when the feeling’s passed.

After that, neither of you seem to know what to do with each other, but that’s okay, somehow. Minutes pass, and you calm down slowly. There’s the sound of a door opening, a cheerful and much harsher goodbye (shouted for Sousuke’s sake, you think), and then your brother comes crashing through the door.

He knows you, so he skips the ‘what’s wrong’ and ‘are you okay’ that most people would falter through and goes straight for a hug, then takes your face in his hands and looks up at you, all worried but still smiling to make you feel at ease. It doesn’t work, but you appreciate the attempt.

You’re feeling less panicky and glasslike now, and you’re just left with the unfamiliar burn of anger in the pit of your gut. Frowning, you feel the sides of your mouth angle down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask in a pitiful shot at sounding angry.

“Tell you?” He leans back, sitting down on the floor more comfortably. “Tell you what?”

“That…that he was already in a relationship?! I th-thought…I mean, of course I knew it’d never work, but I thought that was because he was like…off limits, or something! And having to face it, completely out of the blue, was just…” you trail off, sounding more stupid by the second.

Your brother still looks perplexed. “Wait…the guy you’re crushing on is _Makoto_?!”

“Yes!” you squeak, trying desperately to keep eye contact.

“Oh…” he blinks. “I didn’t…I didn’t realise at all…”

You haven’t seen him this lost for words in months, maybe years. You have so many arguments on the tip of your tongue; ash and brimstone ready to leap out and scream at him for never understanding, always thinking you’re just as happy-go-lucky as he is-

(leaving you alone with your parents)

-never _getting_ it, but you can’t let any of them out with him looking like that.

With lips held tightly together, you slip off the bed and hug him again, snuggling your forehead into his shoulder like that’s going to defuse all the poison in your mind. It does, sort of. Enough. He smells like home and he knows how to hug you back right, and you’ve never been good at keeping anger going anyway. You get a little pang of embarrassment, realising that Sousuke’s probably just been watching you this entire time, but that’s dimmed down too.

“I feel so stupid,” you mumble into his shirt.

“That makes two of us!” he laughs lightly and it doesn’t sound flippant at all.


End file.
